


I Want to Make You Move, Because You're Standing Still

by Ahigheroctave



Series: Pancakes without Bacon universe [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahigheroctave/pseuds/Ahigheroctave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reading has never seemed like more fun to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want to Make You Move, Because You're Standing Still

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts to I'm Not Paralyzed, But I Seem to Be Struck by You. Takes place during Funk, before Quinn leaves to live with Mercedes.

He comes home from Sheets and Things to find Quinn sitting on the couch with a book. He can’t see the cover, but he figures it’s one of the books Ella is persistently handing off to her. Sometimes he comes home and finds them curled up together, Ella’s head nestled into her blonde hair, and Quinn’s voice quietly but animatedly reading the words from the aloud to her. It looks nice to him.  
  
This time she’s alone though, wrapped up in a fluffy red blanket, the book resting on her baby bump and a look of rapt attention on her face. He just watches her, warm and happy in his living room, with a little smile. He likes it when he can catch her unaware of him, to have reassurance that she doesn’t hate him and their situation as much as she tries to make it out sometimes.  
  
Today in particular he’s in need of some confirmation, after her particularly crushing solo for the club.  
  
“Hey,” He says softly, still leaning in the doorway, and he watches her jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”  
  
She folds the book against her belly, and he can see a flash of pink on the cover. “It’s alright, I just wasn’t expecting you for a little while.”  
  
“Mrs. Schue let us leave early, Finn sweet talked her into it. She’s like in love with him or something gross,” He goes and sits by her feet, surprised when she rests them in his lap. “It must be something in the water or something.” Quinn gives him a small smirk and he lets his hand rest nervously on one of her ankles. He thinks his chest might explode, this is the closest she’s let him in months. “What are you reading?”  
  
“Nothing.” The fact that she answers entirely to quickly, accompanied by shoving the book under her back, piques his curiosity.  
  
“What?” He feels himself crack a grin. “You aren’t reading one of those baby books where they have the pictures of birth again are you?” She shakes her head, but there’s still something almost frantic about it. “I promise I won’t faint again.”  
  
“It’s not that one again. To be honest, I’m taking a break from it. The pictures scared me a little bit too.” She raises an eyebrow in that mischievous way that makes it impossible to deny her anything, “Not that I passed out or anything.”  
  
He forgets what they’re talking about for a minute, he’s too busy losing himself in thoughts of jumping her bones. Then he realizes she’s trying to distract him and he stands. She tries to block him, but given it takes about half-an-hour for her to sit up on her own now, he grabs the book with only the shrill protest of “Puck, give it back!”  
  
He just smirks though looking at it, then his mouth goes dry. Secret Diary of a Call Girl is emblazoned in white letters along the front. As is a dirty blond girl in a skin-tight leather number in heels, lying in a provocative position inside a giant martini glass. He stares at it in complete shock, faint happiness blooming somewhere in the back of his mind, when suddenly it’s snatched away from him.  
  
Quinn has managed to get herself up and is standing at his side, hands on her hips with the book clutched in one of them. “Moron,” She scoffs at him.  
  
“You have porn,” He says giddily, pointing to the book. He thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life.  
  
“It’s not porn,” She blushes, looking down at the book guiltily. “It’s just a book, that happens to express sexuality at some points-”  
  
He just grins at her in response, causing anger to boil beneath her skin. “It’s not porn!”  
  
“Whatever you want to call it, babe. Erotica, romance, whatever, it’s a book about a hooker. It might be soft-core, girl porn, but it’s porn.” He wonders if she gets off on it late at night in her room, he thinks he might need one of those mini-video cameras.  
  
“Oh, because it’s not pictures or dirty movies, it’s not ‘hard core’ now?” She huffs at him, and he grins at how fast she’s changing her story now that he’s insulted her book.  
  
“Quinn, there is nothing in that book that is ever going to compare to a skin flick,” Unless it’s a pop-up book of two girls fucking each other.  
  
She raises her eyebrow in that way again, “Oh really?” She starts frantically flipping through the pages, turning and skimming until she finds what she’s looking for. She shoves it at him hard and points to a paragraph, “Tell me that’s not hardcore.”  
  
He gets way too excited over it. “Mercredi, le 4 fevrier.” His mouth stumbles over the French a little, not surprising given as he barely shows up for his Spanish class. What is surprising is his voice, she hadn’t expected him to read it out loud.  
  
He keeps going though.  
  
 _Client: (setting the dresser mirror on the floor) “I want to watch you watching yourself masturbate.”_  
  
Well, this makes a change. “What with?”  
  
“Your hands first, then a vibe.”  
  
“And then you . . . ?”  
  
“No, I just want to watch.”  
  
She listens in amazement as he goes on to explain the man setting Belle on a chair. The way his mouth pronounces it so easily, sounding sexier in his normal tone of voice than the beautiful British dialect she’d been hearing in her head. She feels her breathing catch as she watches him, eyes never leaving the page.  
  
 _I watched my lips grow fuller, redder, wetter. Much darker than I imagined, almost purple, as I’ve seen the head of a penis do so many times. The aperture itself widened and gasped. I could hear it’s gentle smacks like a mouth opening and closing as my hand moved faster and my hips moved less gently._  
  
The effect was of watching myself on television. I suppose it must have been for him as well---he paid far more attention to the reflection than to me in the chair. I wondered why bother with the expense of paying someone to masturbate when there was no interaction, then realized. He wanted to be the director.  
  
But as I approached the point of no return I would slow down and readjust my position---ostensibly to give him a better look or varied position, but really to keep myself from coming.  
  
He stumbles on this last part, eyeing her in awe. “Can I borrow this?” She’s having too much trouble breathing to answer him at the moment. “Just for a few days, I just want it until then.”  
  
She takes the book from him, feeling oddly glazed over. “I’m not done with it yet.” She walks into the kitchen.  
  
He follows her, still staring, “Where did you get it?” He asks as she pulls a tub of ice cream out of the freezer.  
  
She manages to laugh a little at this, “The bookstore, it was on display in the biography section.” At the word display a shiver runs down her spine, Puck’s reading voice filling her ears again.  
  
She stands on her tippy toes, attempting to reach the big bowls. “Man, who knew bookstores were good for something,” He wedges himself between her and the counter, easily lifting down a dish for her.  
  
“Thanks,” She mutters, feeling herself blush at him.  
  
“No problem,” He smiles nervously, grabbing a bowl for himself. She starts scooping the Rocky Road out, three scoops for every one of his. He watches her, her light, flawless little palm on the handle. “Quinn,” He says softly. “Can we do that?”  
  
She feels her face flame, “If I won’t have sex with you, why do you think I’m going to let you watch me…?” She trails off, masturbate just sounds like too dirty a word to say. Especially with him standing right here, watching her so intently.  
  
“I figured…” He still gazes at her though. “I just thought maybe…you know, it could be a way to get around the whole ‘no sex’ thing.”  
  
She looks at him, and the eager look in his eyes. “Maybe…maybe…” She pulls the book off the counter and presses it to his chest. “Maybe you could read it to me sometimes, before bed.” He looks at her hand on top of the cover, and slides out the book in-between the two of them. “I think that,” She struggles to find her words, at such close contact to his skin. “That could be alright.”  
  
“Yeah,” He breathes.  
  
Quinn takes her ice cream to her room instead of eating it in the kitchen. Puck takes a cold shower instead.

**Author's Note:**

> The book referenced is Belle Du Jour, aka Secret Diary of a Call Girl. I own neither.


End file.
